


fixed is another word for broken

by gingerbreadlove



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Basically I tried to fix Fitz's death but made it just as painful, F/M, Paralysis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-05-25 19:11:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14983700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerbreadlove/pseuds/gingerbreadlove
Summary: The title shows how well I fixed the season 5 finale...As Daisy is saving the world, Fitz shoves Jemma out of the way just as the ceiling of the building caves in. She evades major injury, but Fitz is hurt. Badly. (Obviously. Unless you didn't see the finale, in which case I don't know why you need to read a fic about it being "fixed").**Any of the specifics about injury and therapy are from my mother who is a physical therapist and I would like to thank her for my very intricate questions about partial paralysis and recovery.**





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> i have several chapters written, so this fic is definitely continued and will be updated! hopefully you like it and it makes sense... thanks for reading!

Time was an illusion as the quake hit. The ground went from dependably solid to violently shaking in the split-second of a finger snap. 

Fitz would have liked to say he thought about it. That he consciously put two and two together—saw his wife standing there in the spotlight of dusty, filtered sun, and realized that the ceiling was unstable from the ship. Perhaps somewhere in his mind, that  _ did _ click, but it wasn’t consciously. There wasn’t enough time to spare a thought. He knew she was behind him, and without a thought, he dove to protect her. She flew backward with a gasp, watching him crash to the ground just before both their worlds were blackened by the crumbling building that engulfed them.

Everything is slow motion from there. Time doesn’t exist. For a team who has been battling time for weeks, it’s fitting that clocks are irrelevant in this situation.

Mack whips around, eyes wide with terror as his gaze is met by the pile of concrete where his friends—his  _ family _ —were just standing. “Fitz!” He shouts, though his voice is far away, lost in the thick emotion of the moment. 

May had watched the ceiling crash down on the two young scientists. Her stricken gasp of Jemma’s name echoes in a shivering, whisper-shout through the room.

Dust clouds the air, but nobody breathes anyway. Mack rushes forward, desperate to rescue his friends. He hates that the need to be careful slows him down, but he would never stop blaming himself if his own urgency caused worse damage to either of them.

May is suddenly unfrozen and at his side. She finds Simmons at the edge of the wreckage, Fitz’s action having saved her from major injury. Easily finding a pulse, May runs her hand along the girl’s cheek, scooping Jemma into her arms like a child. Unconscious, bruised, and looking so fragile, it’s not hard to imagine the scientist is anything more than a little girl. May tears her eyes away from the gentle face of this girl who has become family to her, gaze meeting Fitz’s bloodied hand which is outstretched from the rubble.

“There you are, buddy.” Mack’s voice reaches out to him, and he rolls the blocks of concrete away to reveal Fitz’s face, which is stricken with fear.

His entire body trembles as his glance dances  anxiously around the room, finding May. “Jemma…” His shaking voice pleads as his heart takes pause in his chest for a fleeting moment.

“She’s okay.” May assures him, voice no more than a whisper.

Fitz swallows painfully, nodding his head, eyes fluttering shut in relief.

“You had me worried.” Mack’s voice has Fitz’s eyes open again, struggling to steadily meet the gaze of his rescuer. “Hang in there.” Mack keeps his words steady and soothing, reassuring his partner, his friend, his little brother.

Trying to stay calm against the frightened shock that has his entire body numb, Fitz nods slightly.

As if on the ice-covered planet Hoth, Fitz shivers. He raises his hand to his forehead with a laugh that does anything but hide his panic. “Hope you saved some energy beca- because m’leg’s pinned...think it’s broke.” Another nervous laugh follows his trembling words as sweat drips down the side of his face. “You’re gonna have to carry me out.” His lips pull into a pained smile, hand covering his eyes as if that will erase the situation.

Mack grunts with the effort of rolling the last block away. “Got you, Turbo. You just...” Mack’s words fall short as the world comes to a halt. Fitz’s shaky breaths are the only sound in the otherwise striking silence. He’s grimacing in pain, holding both hands tightly over his beaten face, a thin line of tears streaming from the corner of his eye. He shivers all over, jaw clenched, though his teeth still manage to chatter. “I think it’s a b-bad break, ‘cause...I can’ feel it.” The fright in his voice is easily made out as it echoes through the dust-filled silence. Mack kneels beside him while Fitz studies his hands, which still vibrate in a ceaseless reverberation of the earthquake.

“Relax, buddy.” Mack’s hushed voice brings Fitz’s attention to himself again. 

“Huh? Yeah, okay.” Fitz nods, turning to his friend and doing everything he can not to look. He can’t look. He doesn’t want to face the truth, so he keeps his eyes on Mack’s soft gaze, even as his vision blurs with tears.

Jemma stirs in May’s lap, letting out a soft groan of pain, but managing an upright position.

“Jemma…” May begins, gently holding the woman back. She catches her attention, drawing it away from Fitz for a moment. The terrified brown eyes lock with her own, and, seeing the desperation locked into the very fiber of her being, May lets her go.

Head spinning a bit as she stumbles toward her husband, Jemma’s lip quivers, gaze drifting between his terrified face and the thick blood running from his side. “Fitz…” Is all she can manage to get out. Mack softly protests her appearance at his side, knowing that Jemma had just been knocked out, but doesn’t fight. If anyone there can save Fitz, it’s Jemma.

His eyes lock on her immediately, and she takes his hands in hers, attempting to steady them even as her own hands shake. A drowsy, fearful smile bites at Fitz’s lips, and he isn’t aware of the tears leaving wet streaks in the dust on his face. Jemma’s own lips trip over the hint of a smile before tightening together.  “Jemma,” He breathes, voice tighter than imaginable as his impossibly blue eyes search her face with a gaze that makes her heart flutter, even in a moment like this. His breath shutters, and his eyes fill with tears, “I th-think it’s more than my leg.”

Attempting a reassuring smile, she squeezes his hands in one of hers, her right hand following the tear trail down his cheek. “Best…” She inhales sharply, worrying her lips, “Best not to look.” She tells him, to which he nods in agreement. Blinking fast and swallowing her tears, Jemma turns to May. “Call for backup. I can’t…” She lets her gaze lower to Fitz’s abdomen. “Do this on my own.”

With a nod and a few quick blinks to hide her own tears, May runs off down the stairs.

Fitz’s eyes roll up to the ceiling momentarily, and Jemma’s heart stops. “Fitz.” She demands, voice taught with emotion. His head jolts back up, and he melts at her face.

“Wha’? Jem…” Tears gather in his eyes as he looks at her. 

Jemma swallows thickly as she sees through his gaze--the absent, glazed look that she doesn’t want to recognize. The look she had memorized on Fitz’s face since the day he woke up from his coma. The innocent, broken look that showed the erasure of memory—a genius’s greatest enemy.

He chokes on a pained laugh, and she holds his hands tighter for a moment. “I can’ feel my legs...I think…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, tears falling down his cheek even as he strains to keep a smile. He glances over at Mack, who hasn’t let go of his shoulder. 

“Hold on, Turbo. We’re gonna get you out of this. Breathe.” His hand tightens gently, reassuringly, and Fitz struggles for a deep breath.

Jemma bites down hard on her lip, knowing she has to do something quick. The medical team won’t get here in time. Her mind spins, and it doesn’t help that her head is still throbbing. She runs through a hundred scenarios in the matter of a moment. It’s always better to wait for an expert, especially dealing with something as fragile an injury as this, but watching him bleed out here, frightened and in pain, that’s something Jemma could never do.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically a continuation of last chapter...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for making this so heavy with angst. i honestly started this fic to fix the ending of season 5, but apparently i'm as bad as the authors. do your best to enjoy this <3 apologies again. i don't mean to make you cry.

The environment is anything but sterile. May comes back with the meager selection of medical supplies before running back off to take care of Robin and Polly. The small collection of supplies is better than nothing, so it’ll have to suffice. Moving Fitz at this point could be deadly. The best they can do is clear the area around him. Removing--or even jostling--the shard of metal lodged in his abdomen could stimulate bleeding and further the damage. His shirt is torn away, making room for clotting agent and gauze to be packed carefully around the bloodied metal while revealing just how serious this injury is.

Mack keeps Fitz talking. Pain, blood loss, fear, and a hard knock from the concrete have done nothing for his previous head injury, which makes holding his attention difficult, but nobody here is about to give up. 

Nothing stops his shaking, not even the painkillers they got him to swallow with tremendous effort. By the time Jemma has done all she can for Fitz, his cheeks are wet with tears and his lip is bloodied from biting down on it. Jemma’s gentle hand spreads over Fitz’s rapidly beating heart, and his face turns to her. Stretching out his trembling fingers, he brushes her cheek. He opens his mouth and a choked sound comes out, bringing stinging tears to Jemma’s eyes. “Jem-Jemma...I can’t feel my legs.” The words barely escape his chattering teeth. He still can’t hold on to the realization that he’s on the verge of dying.

She tightens her hold on him, heart twisting while she watches the storm of pain washing over his face. “Shh...Help is coming.” She soothes, straining to keep her voice from breaking. 

“You’ve been through worse.” Mack reminds him, eyes flooded with a shimmering layer of tears that are ready to fall at any moment. Maybe the acknowledgement of this will somehow show Fitz that he can make it

“You’ll be okay.” Jemma nods in agreement with Mack’s statement. ‘You can make it.’ Their desperate eyes told him. ‘You have to.’

Fitz takes two breaths in one, tucking his chin as his eyes lock into his wife’s ring and his face goes blank. 

“Fitz?” Jemma whispers in hushed concern, urgency breaking her voice before she sniffles.

Fitz doesn’t look up, beads of sweat wetting his pale face. His words are barely audible even in the silence of the room, though he is seemingly unaware of his surroundings. “Are they- are they gonna f-fix me?” His voice cracks with pitch and Jemma wipes a tear from her own cheek, tearing his gaze from her ring and snapping him back into the world. 

Mack’s hand slides from his friend’s shoulder, falling at his side as he takes a deep, shuttering breath. Hearing Fitz echo his own words, here on what could be his deathbed, sends a pang through Mack’s heart. He’d been too harsh. ‘Fixed’ meant something was broken. His friend needed him, but not so he could be fixed. He hadn’t needed fixing. Guidance? Maybe. Help? Definitely. Fixing? No. He wasn’t broken. Or, at least, he _hadn’t_ _been_.

Jemma is at a loss for words, cradling Fitz’s raised hand against her cheek as it’s softly dampened by tears. 

“You’re gonna be okay, Turbo.” Mack whispers his promise as if he can make that guarantee. As if his belief can pull his friend through this. 

Fitz’s eyes don’t leave Jemma’s, but he nods, triggering a release of breath caught in Mack’s lungs. “Yeah...yeah, oka—” A sputtering cough forces up his throat, followed by a weak flood of vomit. Jemma’s eyes go wide, and she moves quickly, rolling his head to the side so he doesn’t choke.

Fitz’s hand slides weakly from Jemma’s cheek. She gasps, grabbing it before it can fall. “Fitz. Stay here. Stay with us.” His eyes are fluttering, mind balanced on a razor blade between conscious and not.

Breath coming in rasping bouts, he makes it his sole purpose to follow Jemma’s orders. Splitting pain spikes like a constant static around his skull. His hand raises to press against his temple, doing everything he can to keep his head from splitting straight open like he’s certain it’s going to.

It takes Jemma a moment to realize he’s unaware of the sounds he’s making—strangled cries, somewhere between a groan and a whine. At this point, it’s best he can’t feel the metal sheet he’s impaled on, only the effects of it.

“Hang in there, buddy.” Mack murmurs, eyes darkened with the empathetic pain of watching his friend suffer so much. 

“Hanging in…” Fitz sucks in a breath, trying to laugh, but his pained cry is far from what he was going for. Jemma’s hand traces his cheek, desperate for a way to comfort him and take away this pain. “Ha- _ Hanging  _ in _.  _ This is whe- ah-haha...” The back of his hand presses hard against his tightly closed eyes, blocking out the pain that has begun to tear through his abdomen, his initial shock and protective adrenaline no longer taking the edge off, “when a m-monkey would be h-h-helpf—” He throws up again, this time a darker shade that imitates  the color and texture of coffee grounds, indicating that there’s internal bleeding. Jemma wipes the remains of the sickening stream from the corner of his mouth, hands gently floating along his shoulders, arms, face—anywhere they can reach to soothe him.

“After this, you’ll have your pet monkey.” She promises, worrying her lips as tears drip from her chin, and attempting the closest thing to a smile that she can manage.

His head slowly lolls to the side before he jolts it back up with a sharp breath. “A m-monkey,” He manages a small nod while his teeth chatter together, “I’ve al-always want-t-ted a monkey.”

“I know, Fitz.” Jemma whispers, then glances up at Mack for a split second, the tortured look in her eyes proving her desperation for reassurance that she isn’t alone in this. 

Mack opens his mouth with a response before a clattering in the stairwell catches both of their attention.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The medical team gets to the scene, rushing to help, leaving Jemma alone to turn to anyone who will be the shoulder she desperately needs to cry on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i’ve been so bad about updates. i see all of your comments and i know i need to be better, but if i pressure myself, this fun thing becomes into a task and i end up having major issues with myself, so thank you for being patient. i love you guys for reading my stuff.

A rush of footsteps sweeps their way, and Jemma’s chest floods with relief. Fitz’s eyes widen, and his gaze locks with hers, stricken with fear. His vision is like that of a delayed, heavily lagging video, skipping and forcing double-vision and trails of pixelated sparks across his view.

“Hey, Turbo, breathe.” Mack’s voice calls out soothingly. FItz takes a breath, thankful for his reminder, though the rattly inhale ends with a sputtering cough.

Mack winces, holding his friend’s shoulder.

The medical team bursts through the door, the silence leaving with their entrance. Putting down the stretcher, they become a bustling crew, guiding Jemma and Mack away from Fitz’s side. Both are unwilling to break away, but necessity to save him overrides any selfish desires not to let go. Jemma talks rapidly, filling the hurried agents in as they cut away the jutting parts of the metal slab to make it easier to transport Fitz. 

Overwhelmed by the sudden rush of new faces and noises in his shocked state, Fitz calls out to her, any calm she had instilled into him, gone. Jemma shoves her hand through to tangle into his cold, limp fingers.

“I’m here, Fitz. You’re okay.” She assures him, closing her eyes in pain of the situation, thankful that he can’t see her face. “I won’t leave you... so don’t you leave me.” The words are pinned on, sticking to her tongue to prove that they weren’t an afterthought, they had merely been too hard to get out. 

Fitz’s eyes flicker rapidly under his shut lids. “We don’t…” His voice shivers out. Jemma tightens her grip on his fingers, staying alongside his stretcher even as the agents wheel him away. “Leave each- leave each other’s sides.” He manages to finish his sentence, and a tear traces its way down Jemma’s cheek. 

“Shh…” She soothes, but she’s as frightened as he is. 

The next hour happens in a hazy blur of people and sounds around Fitz, but Jemma doesn’t leave his side. Everything Fitz does happens in slow motion to Jemma’s eyes. Every cough, every dazed blink, every missed breath, makes her heart stop. She is hardly aware of her friends around her—holding her arms, keeping her upright—until she is being held back by them, being told by agents she doesn’t recognize that she can’t come into the operating room.

Her eyes are wide and full of hurt as she looks after them—wheeling Fitz away. Her soul screams out that they couldn’t take him away. They had to let her through. If he was going to die, she had to be at his side like they’d promised. 

“But I’m a doctor.” Her barely-audible words fall into the slam of the door that shuts behind them. She turns into the nearest friend and buries her face in their shoulder, wishing silently that it was Fitz she was hugging. Wishing anyone else into his place. It’s an awful wish, one that makes her sick with herself, but she can’t help it. Anyone— _ anyone _ —but Fitz. Not him. 


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super short, but Skimmons friendship is always necessary am-i-right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is super short, but i had to do something. sorry i don't update much. i just moved back to my university and it's been a bit crazy. um yeah that's about it. i have other chapters ready and they'll be up at some point. enjoy i guess :)))

A few minutes of deep breaths and silent preparation instill Jemma with the strength to stand. She nods at her teammates, thanking them for being here with words she doesn’t have. Daisy’s hand is laid softly on her back, guiding her down the hall, reminding her she isn’t alone, no matter what happens. Jemma turns her face away, biting her lip against the burning in her throat as they pass the surgery room, but it’s a pointless effort. She’s all out of tears. 

Daisy mindlessly tightens her arm around her friend. Though light, their footsteps echo softly through the empty corridor, a sound that would be lonely if there weren’t two of them. Jemma’s lower lip wobbles as her heart gives thanks for Daisy’s presence. 

A single grey door in the hall is propped open, and they go through it, knowing it would only be open for one reason. There’s an empty place where it’s obvious a hospital bed goes, half a rectangle of abandoned curtains hangs in the middle of the room, pushed back against the wall. 

Daisy’s arms leave Jemma. The sudden deprivation of another person’s heat makes Jemma’s arms prickle with gooseflesh. She shivers at the same nonexistent breeze to which the curtains are swinging, forlorn like an abandoned swing on an empty playground. Collapsing into an empty chair, head spinning to remind her of the probable concussion she’d received earlier, Jemma hardly catches the quick flash of movement as Daisy brushes away a tear.

Swallowing through her sandpaper throat and head full of soggy cotton, Jemma looks her friend in the face for the first time. Daisy’s eyes are glossy, tinged red to match Jemma’s, but she immediately turns away from the small invasion of her private feelings, blinking quickly and lowering herself to a seat, not caring--perhaps even finding comfort--that Jemma’s arm was pressed against her own.

Jemma didn’t seem to mind either. Without Fitz to keep her warm, letting her warmth seep into Jemma was the least Daisy could do. But maybe it was a small action worth more than she would ever know. Maybe it was just the sort of connecting touch that Jemma drew comfort from. As Daisy tilted her head back against the wall, extended her legs, and stared up at the ceiling with a hundred thoughts driving her into a coma, Jemma slowly leaned closer until her head rested softly on the other girl’s shoulder. Daisy pursed her lips, but eventually let the frown melt a little at the edges, mouth smudging into the slightest of smiles. 

They sat like that for a while, Jemma’s eyes not moving--hardly even blinking--as they watched the hand of the clock on the wall drag on in slow motion. The somber peace they fell into ached. It marked their exhausted acceptance of the reality. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma has been waiting for Fitz to wake up, though when he does, she must deliver the news of his condition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off, i would like to sincerely apologize for not updating. yes, i have had this chapter written for over 250 days. i am so so sorry. also sorry that it's literally the worst quality. i didn't even read back over it after all this time oops...  
> second off, shout out to the one reader who has been begging for updates over this entire time. i saw you. i lost motivation for the fic but forgot i had pre-written chapters. thanks for investing enough to bug me this whole time. if it wasn't for you, i wouldn't be posting this because i am so so terrible with updating.  
> third off or whatever, i have another half a chapter written, but that's it. y'all tell me if you want to see that + a summary of what the rest of this fic was gonna look like. if anyone wants that (even if it's just one person), i will do that.  
> sorry that i didn't write the rest of this story. and sorry i abandoned y'all for so long. thank you for those of you who are still here to read lol...  
> <3

Jemma’s knees are curled up into her chest. Her chin rests on her knees and her mouth works slowly as she chews unconsciously on the inside of her lips which are pressed firmly closed. The steady beeping of the heart monitor attached to Fitz only eases her mind a bit. At any moment, it could stop. Each heartbeat could be his last. She clings onto each peak on the machine like it’s her own lifeline. There’s a book open in her hands and she turns the page, eyes having made it to the last word she can see. Her mind is entirely otherwise occupied, retaining none of the 72 pages she’s flipped through. The book seems like it’s in a different world entirely—unaware of the fight between life and death that has been going on for the past 9 hours.

She swallows, her throat sticking to itself. Her eyes burn from the amount of tears they’ve let out...and from the amount they’ve held back.

The pulse monitor sped up, and, having been highly aware of its rhythm, Jemma’s gaze jolted up, fear lining her eyes and making her own pulse spike. Her heart calmed for just a split second as she saw Fitz’s eyes flutter, then heard his choked inhale and he sputtered out a hardly-coherent string of words, and her heart tightened again.

“I can’fee’m’legs...I can’...I can’t…” His pale, trembling lips murmured the words in a groggy panic. Jemma jumps up and rushes to his side as his head swings around, searching for anyone who might’ve heard him. “Fitz?” She brushes his forehead, desperate for him to meet her eyes, “Fitz, it’s okay. You’re okay. Shhh…”

His startled gaze meets her reassuring one as her hand stroked his face. The heart monitor begins to slow. “Jemma?” He breathes, his initial panic easing. “Jemma, I can’t feel--” He begins to tell her again, though his voice is much more even this time.

She takes an IV-tethered hand in her own and hushes him again. “I know, shh, I know.” She bends to kiss his forehead and he eyes her as she pulls away, wary curiosity burning in his eyes.

“Why?” He asks her. She doesn’t answer at first, blinking back tears and swallowing hard as her broken smile faces him. “Jemma,” He repeats, shivering slightly while his eyes beg her to give him what she knows. Anything is better than not knowing. _I can take it. I need to know. Just...tell me._ He says none of that aloud, but Jemma reads it in his face. “Please...please tell me.” He whispers, eyes holding hers steadily. “What’s wrong with me?” His lower lip quivers.

She takes a deep breath, straightening herself, trying to comfort herself and gain confidence in the facts. Her eyes find a spot on the wall just above his head and she forces herself to speak, her voice coming out mechanically because that’s the only way she won’t break into tears. “When the ceiling caved in,” She takes a breath, forcing the memory aside in her mind as it resurfaces, “you were caught under the fall. Your spinal cord was crushed against the pressure of the concrete. You were nearly bisected by an aluminium sheet which went through your left liver, but missed penetrating most other organs. You’re legs are paralyzed. But you’re alive.”  
It takes Fitz a moment. He tries moving his toes. Nothing happens. He stares at his legs, tears in his eyes. “This is it then?” He asks, glancing at her as he refers to nothing in particular, though his eyes have settled back on his legs.

Jemma swallows, her fingers crawling at her side. “They don’t know. Your spinal cord wasn’t severed, so there’s always the chance it will repair itself.”

His nod is barely noticable. “How good-- What are the chances of that?” His eyes meet hers and he knows instantly they’re not good. “Jemma?” He prompts, voice gentle. It’s easier to be unafraid when you haven’t wrapped your mind around the prognosis.

She strokes her finger along his hand, looking down. “Less--” Her voice wavers as she speaks. She closes her eyes, swallowing, and Fitz squeezes her hand, reminding her that he’s prepared for the harsh truth. That he’s strong. So strong. That he’ll make it through this no matter what. “Less than one percent of SCI people experience complete neurological recovery by the time they’re discharged from the hospital.” She stated the fact nearly verbatim from a website she’d found. There were other statistics. More generic ones. But she didn’t want to give him false hope, and this was as much hope as she could muster right now. One percent.

Fitz bit the inside of his lip, not sure what he’d been expecting. He was never going to walk again. Sure there was a sliver of hope, but shreds that small were something only Jemma was capable of seeing. Jemma with her bright eyes and smile. Always looking ahead. Always ready for the brighter future. But that light wasn’t in her eyes right now...and he was desperate to see it back. Even for a second. It was desperation for that little glimmer in her eyes that he loved so dearly which prompted his next statement.

“If the metal cut my liver, whose do I have now?” He asked, lowering his eyebrows and turning his head as if to look for another full bed in the small quarters.

Jemma’s lips hardly tickled a smile, but Fitz got the resulting shimmer he’d geared for. “Fitz, you have two livers.”

Fitz raised his eyebrows. “I don’t. Not anymore.” He gave the tiniest smirk.

The smile on his wife’s face grew a fragment and she nearly rolled her eyes. “ _Ugh_ ,” She groaned fondly, but her smile faltered as she paused before his name, her eyes dulling a bit more, remembering happier times, “ _Fitz_.”

He gave a crooked, sad smile and took the effort to raise his hand, originally planning to stroke her cheek, but settling for her arm instead. “Don’t _Ugh, Fitz_ me.” He teased, using the only protest that didn’t actually affect him. “I only have one liver.”

Jemma shook her head, her little smile back as she held the hand he’d stretched to her. She wouldn’t lecture him on the fact that that made no sense medically speaking. “If you _had_ needed a liver, Deke volunteered his.” Her smile was a bit more genuine now, though she had hardly reacted when Deke had initially said this in the waiting room.

Fitz raised his eyebrows a smidge, tilting his head and humming before he curled his lip a bit. “Glad I didn’t need it then.” He scoffed lightly, his stomach sore even with the intense pain medication. “A part of Deke inside of me…” He made another face, and Jemma gave him a look.

“Fitz, he’s not--” She began.

Fitz gave a little, lopsided smile, “I know, I know.” He sighed slowly, trying to keep his eyes open. “I’ll keep...his offer in mind next time I’m in need of a liver.”

Jemma smiled, petting his shoulder. She knew he would find his soft spot for their grandson sometime. “Get some sleep.” She whispered, having noticed his drifting. “Love you.”

He nodded in compliance, not having much choice, as his eyes were already closing, and hummed a form of agreement.

Jemma kissed his forehead with a soft, lingering smile and stood at his side, watching the shallow rise and fall of his heavily bandaged chest until she herself needed to sit. How long it had been since she had slept was almost a mystery to her, and she was grateful to sit back into the chair, her mind eased enough by Fitz to slowly relax into sleep.


End file.
